


Nobody Warned You

by raxilia_running



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, bromance!Steve/Natasha, post!CATWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raxilia_running/pseuds/raxilia_running
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Sorry, I thought you would've run into some spoilers, surfing the net here and there...” she yawns, calm like a full, sleepy cat, and her slender fingers brush against Steve's exposed nape in a surge of mockish tenderness.</i><br/>Steve Rogers tries to catch up on the latest seventy years, updating his taste in movies... but he hasn't dealt with Natasha yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Warned You

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Nobody Warned You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8200144) by [raxilia_running](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raxilia_running/pseuds/raxilia_running). 



> So, here I am again, thanks to the wonderful [terryh_nyan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/terryh_nyan/pseuds/terryh_nyan), who patiently help me and translate this fic from italian for me. I wrote it immediately after watching "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" and believe me when I say I've never been struck so suddenly by a ship and so... I wrote a Romanogers. I love them together so much, not only as a romantic relationship, but also as a "simple" bromance. I hope you'll enjoy the reading, I'll try to translate my other fics on these two, when I have more time. Bye~

_Nobody told you_  
_That I could just waltz through_  
_And shake up your style._  
_I'm inside, like a wrecking ball through your eyes,_  
_And I change it all from inside_  
_**{Wrecking Ball | Interpol}** _

“Sure you don't want one?”

Natasha's curled up on the couch, her legs, wrapped in a pair of tight jeans, bent underneath her body. She slides her hand into a narrow, red carton tube, and pulls out a crisp, holding it up between two fingers and gazing at it for a few istants. When she lays it on the back of her tongue, Steve's eyes are still glued to the TV's screen, a cathode ray tube that looks like it could've come straight out of Natasha's box of childhood memories.

Upon closer examination, Steve Rogers' whole house is a ridiculous mosaic of furniture and kick knacks from different ages, set next to each other without any particular logical parameter, to the point you'd have the same chance of finding yourself gazing upon a latest generation MacBook or an abat-jour from the Thirties. She's not sure whether the soldier has some unimaginable passion for the antique or if he's trying to catch up on seventy years of lost time by shoddily recreating the latest decades' worth of technological progress one hoarded piece after another.

“I'm not so sure I'd like chips from a... carton tube... and I'm fine with my pop-corns anyway” Steve curtails, shrugging, and he brings another handful to his mouth, chewing slowly not to lose a single line of the movie.

He leans forward, an elbow pressed on his knee and the plastic bowl unsteadily placed on his thighs, the reflection of flashing lights red and blue from laser swords in the clear mirror of his irises. Natasha purses her full lips in a skeptic face and she leans towards him, resting an arm on the moss-green seatback of the couch, cheek lazily pressed against her knuckles.

“This Darth Vader just can't understand when it's time to stop being so insistent...” he comments, so engrossed he's no longer even pecking, while the outcome of the fight grows more and more adverse to Luke Skywalker.

“Yeah, well, what can you do, it's a complicated father-son relationship” Natasha deadpans back, gracefully biting another crisp, no rush in her gestures, her clear gaze falling almost by chance on her friend's large and, as of then, curved back.

Steve's so absorbed it takes him more than a few seconds to metabolise those words and connect their meaning to the story. When he does, he jerks back, the pop-corn bowl almost rolling on the ground, and he turns around so suddenly his cheekbone hits her friend's arm, still bent behind his shoulders.

“Eh?”

“I mean, considering Luke doesn't even know that man's his fa... what's with the shock on your face, now? Don't tell me that was a spoiler!” she exclaims, her features suddenly twisting into a warm, not remotely sincere smile, betraying all of her true intentions.

“Eh?!” Steve can only blurt out, more dumbfounded by the second, and then he turns around again, just in time to be greeted by a thundering _'Luke, I am your father!'_ , a moment too late to really surprise him.

If he could, he'd be screaming like Luke Skywalker is in that exact moment on the screen, but he's stuck in a freezing stillness even stronger than that of the antartic ices. His face is a huge question mark when he resolves to bring his attention back to Natasha, who takes advantage of the fact his mouth has fallen wide open, jaw literally dropping on the floor, to stick a crisp between his lips, barely brushing them with her fingertips.

“See? They're good” she smiles, irony all over her lips, amiably glossing over the obvious, desperate question his friend's asking her. Steve forces himself to crush the crisp beneath his teeth and swallow it down in one go, because spitting out food would be outrageously impolite. When he seems to finally get back the ability to utter words, he shakes his head a couple of times, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why? I hadn't seen the movie yet, I didn't know!” he grumbles, face twisting into a disappointed, annoyed grimace, and Natasha feels just like she's just denied a kid a trip to his favourite amusement park.

“Sorry, I thought you would've run into some spoilers, surfing the net here and there...” she yawns, calm like a full, sleepy cat, and her slender fingers brush against Steve's exposed nape in a surge of mockish tenderness.

“I carefully avoid collecting information about movies I plan to see, and... and I have no idea what these 'spoilers' you're talking about even are” he sulks back, frowning with the familiar feeling of bewilderment that gets a hold of him every time he finds himself in front of a new word to add to his vocabulary to avoid remembering having been _elsewhere_ during the past seventy years.

“What I just did to you, that was a spoiler. Not that I meant to in any way, of course” she whispers craftily, red lips moving inches from the tip of his nose, but Steve stirs his mouth in a skeptical way, throwing a long, intent stare in her direction.

“Nat, when you put your mind to it you _can't_ lie”.

Natasha lets a low hum escape her lips, stretching her legs on the other side of the couch before bringing her gaze back on the TV, apparently too interested in watching the credits roll to answer his questions with the attention he'd deserve.

“Careful where you surf, then, you might catch some nasty 'spoiler' from the third movie”.

“Why, thank you for your selfless advice! I think I'm going to watch it right now so I won't have to take the chance...” he bites back, all but grateful, stepping out of reach from the sweet feeling of Natasha's fingertips on his skin to switch tapes. They've had the conversation before but Steve won't budge: he'd rather give up watching a movie than illegally downloading anything from the Internet. The spy isn't sure if she should laught at or admire his borderline-fanatic moral integrity, even when it comes to the smallest details of daily life.

“Unless, of course, _someone_ decides to open her mouth one time too many...” he adds grumpily, crashing back on the couch, and Natasha shoots him her fakest pout and just shrugs.

“I'll be silent as the grave” she reassures him, sewing her mouth shut with an invisible zip between her fingers. Steve sighs and slumps back against the seatback and Natasha's outstretched arm, pressing the 'Play' button on the remote.

The letters have already lined up on the screen to form the sentence 'In a faraway galaxy' but he suddenly turns around, as if the thought has only just lit up inside his mind and it's too important to ignore.

“If it's not too late for you, of course” he worriedly says, pointing at the grey, plastic clock on the wall. It's barely striking 11pm, and his friend doesn't look at it twice.

“That's fine by me, I've got no problems staying up all night...”

By then, Natasha's stirring and leaning against Steve's shoulder, who doesn't think of her joke as anything more than an offer of her time, and he lets her slump against his chest, a hand resting almost casually on her waist.

“By the way, I'm not so sure I've forgiven you yet for your... spoiler, earlier” he makes a point of stating, his blond eyebrows still furrowed.

“Wow, touchy” she simply replies, digging deep into her carton tube and noticing how terribly empty it is.

“At least I didn't say anything about Leia being Han Solo's sister” she nonchalantly adds, and the grip on her waist grows slightly tighter, as Steve turns around and stares unblinkingly and irritably down her mocking face.

“Oh, c'mon, I'm kidding!” she laughs, winking, and the soldier sighs in annoyed relief, shaking his head like he's scolding a naughty child.

“Otherwise they never could've ended up together at the end of the movie”.

That revelation catches Steve by surprise like a sting to his side, just as he's allowing himself to relax between the couch's armrest and the soft breast against his shoulder.

“Natasha, please!” he blurts out and he spreads his arms in defeat, the spy quivering with a deep laughter against his ribs.

“Okay, okay, sorry, I'll be quiet, I promise!”

Natasha gets her breath back and steals a few pop-corns from his bowl, shooting him one last mocking glance. But, no, she's not going to be quiet. Non when great Captain America's pissed faces turn out to be far more interesting to watch than any cinematographic classic in VHS.


End file.
